


Stumbling Over Reason

by autoschediastic



Series: Suckerface [3]
Category: CSI: Las Vegas
Genre: M/M, nippleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:59:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoschediastic/pseuds/autoschediastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know, you don't have to get me drunk. I'll put out either way."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stumbling Over Reason

When Greg finally trudged back to the lab on a sweltering Thursday night, up to his eyebrows in dirt and several other choice substances he was doing his best not to name by smell alone, all he wanted was a shower and his bed. The first he got, to everyone's palpable relief, but the second, not so much.

The table he'd appropriated for the pile of junk he'd dug out of the dump was starting to rival a king size at the Grand by the time Mike found him.

"Hey," Greg said, the weariness weighing him down no match for the crazy Pop Rocks fizzle of his nerves as Mike came up beside him to give the crap strewn all over the table a vaguely interested glance. It was like that every fucking time he set eyes on the guy, all hands on deck, all systems go-go-go. Pavlov's dog couldn't hold a slobbery biscuit compared to him.

"I'd heard you spent your night dumpster diving," Mike commented.

"Me and my luxurious Vegas lifestyle." Greg's back gave a painful geriatric twang as he straightened. "And ow."

Mike's eyebrow hitched up. Without a word, right there in the middle of the lab for all to see, he took a step back and plunked his big, warm hands down on Greg's sore shoulders.

Any objections he might've voiced melted as fast as a snowman in the desert when Mike's strong thumbs dug in, sure and steady. Greg wavered on his feet and grabbed the edge of the table, barely able to stay upright with the help.

"Good?" Mike asked, his voice low, salacious. He found all the knots like they were marked with flags, and hit more than one red flashing button along the way.

Greg practically bit through his tongue trying to hold back a thankful moan. With Mike's hands on him and Mike's voice in his ear, he didn't stand a chance. A sympathetic shoulder rub was one thing; the temptation to shove all the trash aside and bellyflop onto the table so Mike could make it a full body massage was something else entirely.

Still, he wasn't the one to pull away, and he gnawed on a few of the best new curses he'd picked up from the streets that Mike kept _doing_ that to him.

Really, though, he'd much rather gnaw on Mike.

Mike gestured at the table, and Greg had a split-second to wonder if a) Mike could read his mind, which would explain a lot; b) he'd said that massage crack out loud; and most importantly, c) that familiar quirk of Mike's mouth was an invitation.

Greg never had this propensity for lists before he met Mike, he's sure of it.

"Don't let me interrupt you," Mike said, and Greg deflated in equal parts relief and disappointment. Not that he was going to just clamber on top of the table at the slightest hint or anything.

As Greg sighed and picked up the melted plastic he'd been examining, Mike said, "Your Vegas lifestyle, hm?"

"You know us wild, crazy kids. Party all night, sleep all day."

"Is that your plan after shift?"

A lazy tendril of something very not work-appropriate coiled all the way down Greg's spine. He surreptitiously watched Mike lean back against the table, fingers curled over the edge, the whole picture like a snapshot of the first time they hooked up, when it took sole position for the craziest, hottest thing Greg had ever done. Since then the items on his growing list had taken turns zipping past the rest, and every last one of them were Mike's doing.

His working definition of crazy and hot had also undergone a few revisions at Mike's hands. After the Incident (adjective: Mind-Blowing) at Mike's apartment, he'd gone straight in for a fresh run of tests and picked up nearly half a dozen boxes of condoms.

The lure of a screaming neon green dick or latex ribbed for his pleasure still didn't manage to make his most recent jerkoff fantasies any more responsible. Maybe he should've snagged the orange ones instead.

Prodding his thoughts back on track, he slapped on a shit-eating grin and said, "At that hour in the morning, the choices are pretty much booze, babes, or breakfast."

Mike made that low purr of a rumble that meant he was giving each one due consideration. It was like somebody had hotwired Greg's dick while he was sleeping and handed Mike the key. "So where are you taking me for breakfast?"

"Me?" The plastic in Greg's grip gave a warning creak and he quickly set it down before he did something even stupider than his usual of late, like blithely destroying evidence. He cleared his throat and tried for smooth. "I'm taking you to breakfast, huh?"

Smile sharp and glittering like the edge of a blade in his eyes, Mike gave him that long, leisurely once-over, so intense it felt like his clothes weren't even there. He shifted under the scrutiny, not exactly uncomfortable but definitely nowhere near relaxed.

Going for endearing, Greg teased, "No mountain of paperwork this time?"

Mike's gaze fixed on his mouth. "No."

Okay, so teasing was out. Mr. Keppler was all business. Business time worked for Greg. "There's a decent joint off Decatur," he said, wetting his lips. Mike tracked the swipe of his tongue and a whole platoon of invisible ants went marching one by one up his arms. He fumbled in his pocket for a pen and scribbled a quick map of cross-streets on a scrap of definitely-not-evidence. "Meet me there?"

"Get a booth." Mike clapped a hand to his shoulder on the way out, fingers drifting lightly across the back of his neck.

He shivered. His answer stuck his throat, and long after Mike had gone, he belatedly told the empty room, "Sure thing."

As a counter guy, man, he hoped that place had booths.

*

Bette's Breakfast Bar did turn out to have booths. When he'd arrived, nerves vibrating like guitar strings on the wrong pegs and stomach tying itself into fancy marina knots, Mike had been nowhere to be seen, so he'd strolled on inside. He'd changed his mind twice about where to sit, at first going for the ones in the back, thinking of the relative privacy there compared to the rest of the pickings. Then, rethinking it, he'd headed back to the front, not wanting to assume.

Except assumptions were exactly how he'd ended up with Mike fucking his brains out in the first place, so he'd turned right back around and plopped determinedly in the booth furthest from the front door, the washrooms, and the three sets of prying eyes.

One set happened to belong to the waitress. She gave him an eyeball so hairy as to give Cousin It a run for the money.

He fiddled with the menu as she made her way over, pen and pad at the ready like sword and shield. And sure, maybe he'd spazzed out there for a moment, but he wasn't all _that_ bad.

A dazzling smile earned him a sharp crack of her gum.

"Uh, coffee?" he ventured. "I'm meeting somebody."

She gave his button down, snazzy vest and jeans a steady look. Deciding he was good for it despite his suave arrival, she swished away. He turned the plain china mug over before she came back, and cradling the steaming cup between his hands, slumped back in the booth.

The electronic door chime went off and he looked up, caught Mike's gaze. Playing it cool was the name of the game, so he kept it casual, tried for lazy interest as Mike circled round to slide into the vacant seat.

"Do you have one of those for me?" Mike looked at the coffee Greg held as he unbuttoned his coat and smoothed it down. He shook his arms out so the sleeves hitched comfortably and rested his elbows on the table, hands folded in front of his chin.

Greg's insides had long since turned to jelly. He went to signal the waitress but found her already on her way over, coffeepot in hand.

"Ready now?" she asked, filling Mike's cup and topping up his.

Not bothering with the menu, Mike said, "Two fried eggs, well done, a side of hash browns, a side of wheat toast, and a slice of tomato." He nodded at Greg like an afterthought. "Waffles."

She shot Greg a curious glance.

Reeling from that trip, he whipped up a smile and said, "The man knows what I like."

She went off with a chuckle, shaking her head, his awesome first impression faded into ancient history. That smile was back on Mike's face, the one that said Greg had done something he liked and he wouldn't mind if it happened again.

"You do that often?" Greg asked. "Order for people?"

"You didn't want waffles?"

Of course he wanted waffles. He always wanted waffles. He wanted to know how _Mike_ knew he wanted waffles. Reading people only went so far. "Remember what I said about people who answer questions with questions?"

Mike dumped half a cream and half a sugar into his coffee. He took a sip and set it back down before sliding out of the booth to shrug off his jacket entirely. "Come sit over here."

Watching as he meticulously unbuttoned and rolled his sleeves halfway up his forearms, Greg said, "What?"

Like they were discussing the weather, Mike said, "I want you to sit next to me."

Dubiously, Greg pushed his coffee across the table and stood. Bette's was a little too far from the lab to be one of the group's usual haunts, but he couldn't vouch for the rest of the department. If somebody recognised them, it would be almost as bad as if they'd been caught in the lockers.

"You sure?" Greg asked, but his traitorous body had already plunked his ass onto the lumpy upholstery.

Mike slid in beside him, their shoulders bumping and thighs pressed snugly together. He stirred the rest of the open sugar packet into his coffee. "You seem nervous."

"No, not me," Greg said, dizzy from his eyeballs trying to scan every square foot between here and the other side of the street, just waiting for someone to pop up screaming fraternisation. "What would I have to be nervous about?"

Easy as you please, Mike draped an arm over his shoulders. He choked on his coffee.

Mike kept on smiling, rubbing soothing circles on his back. It might as well have been another offer of a blowjob right then and there for all the good it did.

"Don't do that," Greg wheezed, coughing to clear what felt like tar out of his lungs. "Surprise me like that, I mean."

"I didn't think it'd be all that surprising." Mike's thick fingers spanned the back of Greg's neck. "Should I give you a warning every time?"

Their waitress chose that moment to sashay her way back, a tray with a collection of steaming plates balanced expertly on one hand. Sliding one to Greg and the other two to Mike, she stepped back, cracked her gum again and said, "Anything else?"

Mike poked both eggs and seemingly satisfied, said, "An orange juice for him."

Greg didn't even bother to comment that time, instead sizing up the artful stack of waffles. With a little butter flower perched right on top surrounded by sliced strawberries, it was fancy considering the décor. Mike's plate was truckstop dull in comparison.

"Where would you be right now if you weren't here?" Mike asked, a flash of a smile garnering a wink from the waitress as she swung by with the OJ.

Spearing a strawberry, Greg chewed on both it and his answer. Most of the time he saved his boogie nights for the days he had off, because half-assing a party was about as much fun as half-assing an assignment.

Mike was up to something here. Mike was _always_ up to something, and Greg was stuck trying to catch up.

"I know someplace I'd like to be," Greg said, pumping that one so full of innuendo it probably had all the subtlety of a Mack truck.

"And here I thought you'd want to fuck in your bed this time around."

Greg's mouth was full of waffle so his response to that one wasn't what he'd call eloquent. Swallowing his food turned into not swallowing his tongue as Mike's hand dropped to his thigh, blunt nails scratching all the way up along the inside seam until Mike's knuckles brushed his balls.

Right in the middle of the fucking restaurant.

Mike's hand flipped to give him a small squeeze and his knee banged the underside of the table, rattling the dishes. "Spread your legs."

The edges of Greg's fork dug into his palm. "Here?"

Calmly, Mike drank his coffee, all James Bond casual while his thumb followed the trapped curve of Greg's dick. Greg's jeans hadn't been all that loose in the first place, thanks to his keen fashion sense and perverse desire to highlight his assets for Mike's wandering eyes, and they were shrinking by the second.

Shooting glances at the other patrons, Greg slid deeper into the seat and let his knees splay. The waffles were melt-in-your-mouth awesome, but not half as awesome as the heat of Mike's hand cupping him.

When Mike popped the button on his jeans, he sucked in a hard breath. He felt a tug on his zipper and barely resisted the urge to look down, sure the middle-aged guy near the counter knew exactly what they were up to. He felt Mike's fingers on his bare belly and oh man, he did the stupidest shit around Mike, they were going to get in so much trouble, end up hauled in for indecent exposure, shit.

He could just _hear_ Grissom's patented Greg-weary sigh and Nick's embarrassed laugh.

"Hang on a second," he puffed out, groping for Mike's wrist. At Mike's raised eyebrow, he floundered. "I mean, I like the opening act, but the venue's not so hot."

Mike's gaze dropped down and Greg's temperature went up. "I wouldn't say that."

The thing was, if Mike kept going, Greg would probably let him get away with it. Brain cells flew south whenever Mr. Keppler came calling, and boy, Mike and come were not concepts Greg needed occupying the same space in his head right now. But there they were, hand in hand, doing the kind of dirty floorshow you only got at the all-nude joints.

To Greg's dismayed relief--or relieved dismay, depending on how you liked your oxymoron served--Mike let up just shy of the goods. He snuck a quick glance around and went to do up his zip, not really all that shocked but still doubting his hearing when Mike said, "Leave it."

With a snort, Greg tugged at the little metal tab.

Mike caught his wrist. "Untuck your shirt." He dug out his wallet and flipped it open, grabbing a few bills seemingly at random to toss onto the table.

"Are you serious?" Greg hissed, more incredulous than anything. The shrinking of his pants had been metaphorical; an open fly was an open fly. Every time he figured he knew what sort of stunt to expect from Mike, out trotted a brand new low. Or maybe high, if he went by the dazed thrill he got out of it. "You want me to walk out of here with my pants down?"

"They'll stay up long enough to get to the car." Mike slid out of the booth and reached for his coat, taking his time unrolling his sleeves and shaking out his coat.

Recognising the measly cover it provided, Greg scrambled to haul out his shirt before he missed his chance. Scooting across the seat without his jeans slipping right down over his ass took some careful manoeuvring, and he stood up, nervously smoothing down his wrinkled shirttails.

"Don't fuss," Mike said, shrugging his jacket into place and straightening his cuffs with a practiced flick that made Greg's tongue go thick. Before Mike, he hadn't realised he had such raging hard on for older guys, especially for older guys in suits. There'd be a flutter every so often, a deep, resonating twang even less than that.

Since Mike could play him like a fiddle with a sideways glance and a hand smoothed down that solid black tie, maybe he mostly had a thing for Mike and the rest was sweet creamy icing.

Mike's hand settled in the small of his back to steer him to the door. Caught in the undertow, Greg went, steady but surely, not really catching on until they were about three feet from Mike's car. He'd been way too busy monitoring the slip of his jeans as he walked, calculating exactly how many steps he could take before his Lucky Brand slims stopped being so lucky and gave up the goods. Climbing the stairs to the parking lot out back had put him well within the danger zone.

"I'll need directions to your place," Mike said, jerking his chin at the passenger's side.

Swept up in the shiny thrill of picturing Mike in his bed, Greg barely even worried about the pile of laundry he'd left dumped on the couch. At least it was clean. He pulled open the door, grabbing on to his jeans to keep them up.

"Don't," Mike said, already settled in the driver's seat and watching.

"They're more than halfway down my ass," Greg said, and it came out a lot less like a protest than he'd meant.

"I know."

Grinning like a first class idiot, Greg slumped into the seat, completely unsurprised when his jeans slipped and tugged his underwear along for the ride. "You're horrible. As in the actual original meaning of the word. Horrible."

After absorbing the quick run down of directions Greg gave, Mike said, "Horrible would be telling you to pull your cock out and show me how hard you are right now."

Heat swept like a California brushfire up the back of Greg's neck, his whole scalp tingling with it. The seatbelt felt like it was crushing his chest. "Is that what you're telling me to do?"

Mike switched lanes, gaze steady on the road, hands steady on the wheel. The air inside the car smelled like him, warm and thick and ridiculously good. While Greg waited for an answer, his heart started up a one-organ disco dance party.

"No. Leave it in your underwear." Mike's gaze flicked sideways. "Palm it for me."

"This is kinda crazy," Greg muttered, but he leaned back in the seat, slid a hand in his jeans. If he'd lagged any leaving the restaurant, he couldn't tell now. He liked his own personal Mr. Right as much as the next guy but this time around, knowing Mike was there, watching out of corners of his eyes, blood surged at the first brush of his fingers. He grunted as his cock swelled painfully thick in the confines of his clothes. Bracing both feet on the floor, he arched up to relieve the pressure as he worked his dick out of the crook of his thigh.

Almost too softly to hear, Mike said, "Fuck."

That tiny little chink in Mike's armour dried up the inside of Greg's mouth like he'd swallowed the sun. He'd heard Mike lose it before, felt the precise, deliberate control crumble like a wall with rotted mortar against his back as Mike fucked him, but this was different. They weren't even really _doing_ anything yet.

"You sure you don't want to see?" Greg spread his knees wide, the lights outside as distant as the stars as his knee bumped against Mike's hand on the gearshift. This wasn't like him, exhibitionism really hadn't ever been his thing, but the gleam in Mike's dark eyes and silence inside the car made him forget all about the others idling with them at the stoplight.

"Unbutton your shirt." Mike's voice had dropped past that low purr to something tighter, harder. "Fast, don't be a tease about it."

With no idea how close they were to his place, or what the hell he thought he was playing at, Greg fumbled open his vest. This wasn't anything like in the locker room, either, when nerves had made him jittery and Mike's directions had messed him up. The shiny buttons on his shirt slipped through his fingers.

Another red light brought them to a halt. Mike reached over with one hand to push his shirt wide open beneath the seatbelt, and when a thumb brushed his mouth, he didn't even think before he licked at it, the salt of skin warring in his mouth with a sweet trace of the jam Mike had spread on his toast.

Mike's hand spread dark and wide over his chest, slick thumb tracing a line beneath his nipple. He sucked in a shaking breath, gaze darting to the street to see who could be watching. The tint on the windows wasn't _that_ dark.

"Don't worry about them," Mike said, fingers curling in to gently pinch at his flesh.

A hot line of pleasure shot from chest to groin. He grabbed at the door handle as Mike twisted lightly, his balls drawing taut and tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. Sure, he liked to have his nipples played with, kept an extra blowjob or two in reserve when he found a guy willing to oblige and spend as much time with the foreplay as they did with the fucking. It had never felt like somebody strung a wire from his nipple to his dick before.

He turned in his seat as much as he could, offering up room for more and groaning when Mike's hand fell away. The car started forward. "Do it for me," Mike said.

Gingerly, he rubbed at his chest. Mike had been rougher than he'd first caught on, the dark red marks left behind on pale skin throbbing shallowly. "It's not really the same, you know?"

"Do it anyway."

The lights of Greg's building rose up like salvation. He dug for his keys, handing them fob-first to Mike so he could scan them in. His spot was empty, since they'd left his ride back in the lot. An all hours place on a busy enough street, it'd be safe until morning.

Mike killed the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt but made no move to climb out. His gaze was heavy, expectant.

Greg reached for his own belt and again, Mike caught his wrist. Greg's eyes jumped to the circle of Mike's big fingers indenting the skin of his arm. It gave him way too many ideas about letting Mike hold him down.

"I wasn't kidding," Mike said.

With an internal shrug, Greg brushed his fingertips over his nipple. It was okay, a tiny flutter of possibility, but nowhere near whatever Mike had done.

Mike huffed a laugh at him and leaned close. The seat creaked, and the centre console had to be digging into Mike's stomach, but no way in hell was he about to complain when the wet warmth of Mike's tongue touched his chest. He went for the belt release again and Mike stubbornly held him in place, grazing his nipple first with the edge of teeth and then with the dark shadow of stubble that had grown in over the course of day and night.

"Okay," Greg said, clutching at the back of Mike's head. "Okay, that's good."

Easing off, Mike flicked at his nipple with the tip of one blunt nail. The lights in the parking garage were bright but only reached inside the car enough to illuminate Mike's smile. A smile that said Mike was following the first part of the evil overlord list's number eleven to the letter. "Show me."

Muffling a groan, Greg tugged his hand free of Mike's grip and palmed at his cock. Slightly miffed, he scratched at his chest a bit harder than he'd meant to and sensation zinged straight through him, startling in its intensity.

"That's it," Mike encouraged, pushing Greg's hand over to the other nipple so he could pick up right where he left off on the first, rolling it between his fingers. "Do what I do," he said, cupping a broad hand over Greg's to give his cock a squeeze.

"No problem," Greg gasped, adding another bruise to his collection when his knee hit the underside of the dash. Except it was a bit of a problem, his reaction time shot to hell by the twist and tug of Mike's fingers on his chest and the dull, aching throb that started up beneath Mike's palm all tangling up in his gut. He jerked back in the seat as Mike bit him, tender flesh mounded thick in Mike's mouth. The swipe of Mike's tongue was anything but soothing.

"Can't do that," Greg said, hand fluttering from the back of Mike's head to his shoulder and back again. Mike sucked, sharp teeth digging in, and Greg's hand curled into a fist. "Shit, _shit_, I am so totally okay with fucking right here if you want to."

When Mike let out a considering noise and pulled back, Greg looked down to find a perfect imprint of teeth on his chest. He thought about the case with the dentist and choked on a nervous laugh as Mike gave his cock another squeeze. If he ever did bite the bullet in the middle of a kinky sex game, at least they'd know who had done him in.

"Used to get a lot of action in my car back in high school, this brings back memories. Pretty crummy memories in comparison it turns out." Greg shivered, all his skin going tight at once.

"Come on," Mike said, getting out. He waited by the back bumper, and like Greg was his very own Keppler polarised magnet, caught his wrist.

Greg had the fishy feeling it was more to keep him from straightening up his clothes too much than anything else, but being nearly dragged across the concrete to the elevator was a healthy treat for his ego. He wasn't even worried about the cameras in the elevators, since he wasn't all that bedraggled despite the excited flush he could feel creeping up his neck.

He punched his floor number after Mike waved the fob at the tiny scanner. "Sex in public, sex in the car, not gonna add sex in an elevator to tonight's menu?"

Mike gave him a sideways look and a slow, spreading smile before pushing his hand right to the hard swell barely hidden by Mike's neatly pressed slacks. "Go for it."

"Seriously?" Greg coughed the squeak out of his voice and shot a glance at the blinking red light up in the corner. He licked his lips. Somehow he cared less about his neighbours or the security guys than the fact that he'd scrubbed through hours of elevator surveillance and no one ever looked good going down on a guy from the bird's eye view. "Do you want me to?"

Mike followed his gaze, something dark and dangerous sparking to life in his eyes. Backing Greg into the corner beneath it, thumbnail scratching unmercifully at his reddened nipple, Mike said, "No. I want you to take me upstairs and fuck me."

Greg's common sense hit the bottom of the elevator and kept on going. He grabbed at Mike's collar and dragged him in for a sloppy kiss, and if he had even a single worry left about technique, the hungry shove of Mike's tongue into his mouth buried it. The stiff press of Mike's cock aligned against his through the open fly of his jeans and Greg caught himself just shy of hitching a leg up to rut against it like a horny teenager.

He couldn't even comprehend how hot the idea of fucking Mike was, his brain fizzing out like a bum television each time he thought about Mike on his knees, or stretched out on his belly, or fuck, laid out naked on his back.

The doors chimed. "Come on," Greg said, nearly stumbling over the uneven lip where the elevator wasn't quite level with the floor. He scanned the hallway, brain failing hard on serving up the necessary info. "Where the hell do I live?"

Mike chuckled.

"You just _say_ shit like that," Greg accused, heading in what he hoped was the right direction. He silently counted off the numbers they passed. "Sometimes I think you sit around coming up with lines and test out the ones you think will kill me quickest."

"I don't think it'd be as much fun for me if I ever found the one that did." Mike's hand snuck under the trailing hem of Greg's shirt as Greg patted his pockets for the keys. "Here."

Greg snatched the ring and jammed a key into the lock. Luckily, it was the right key, and his brief fear that it had been the wrong one and would've broken off when he forced it, which would've meant they'd have to wait for a locksmith to show up before they could get to the bed evaporated. Which was awesome, because holy shit, that fiasco would have _sucked_.

Elbowing the door open, Greg slapped on a light. He moved to push Mike up against the back of the door, wanting to get back to that kiss, and Mike sidestepped, pushed him to the wall instead.

"No rush," Mike said, allowing a brief brush of their lips before he stepped back. He worked free the knot in his tie as he sized up the apartment.

No rush? What the hell was Mike thinking. Yes rush.

The place was tidier than Greg had remembered, meaning it was presentable but nowhere near Mike's spic and span pad. Bits and pieces of Greg's life were strewn around, laundry, mail, magazines and books, the console game he'd been killing time with earlier that morning. The furniture was deliberately mismatched, because Greg didn't believe in living in the middle of a staging room, but it meshed. At the time he'd bought it, he'd thought the replica of the Maltese Falcon looked pretty damn snazzy perched on his bookshelf.

Viewing it all through Mike's eyes now, he thought maybe it looked more like a dorm than a grown man's home. _You are not the contents of your wallet. You are not your fucking khakis._

"It suits you," Mike said, flinging his tie over the back of a chair. "Busy."

"Bedroom's this way," Greg said, shrugging out of his shirt and vest and holding them clutched in one hand. He couldn't stop thinking about Mike naked on his sheets.

Studying the vintage pulp fiction posters framed above the television, Mike said, "How about a drink?"

"Now I know you're trying to drive me crazy."

Turning, Mike sent his gaze sliding down Greg's bare chest, and Greg shivered, felt it like a touch. "I could be trying to make this last."

Tossing shirt and vest aside, Greg pushed his hands under Mike's jacket at the shoulders and eased it down. "I get that," he said, surprised when Mike let the jacket fall in a heap on the floor. He started in on the buttons on Mike's shirt, heart giddily tripping when Mike made no move to stop him. "Really, I do. I get that, but geez, Mike."

"You want to fuck me that bad," Mike said, not bothering to make it a question.

Lust kicked Greg so hard in the gut his knees buckled. He hadn't thought about it much, but when the idea had first cropped up, he'd figured Mike for a certain type of guy and left it at that. He was versatile, so it's not like it was a big point of contention. Sex was sex, and sex with Mike was stupidly, insanely hot, so he let it slide.

But it seemed there were a lot of things he figured Mike for, and one by one, Mike blew those perceptions straight out of the water. Every time Mike hit a line Greg had drawn, he stepped right over it, and Greg found himself scrambling over his own eagerness to follow.

That probably wasn't a good thing. He'd have to try to care later.

"Do you want to know what I wanted at the restaurant?" Mike asked, low purr rippling like water down Greg's spine, and Greg swallowed, croaked, "What?"

Mike seized his arms just below his shoulders. He grasped at the open edges of Mike's shirt, knuckles gone white. Anticipation coiled like a whip in his stomach, crackling, waiting to snap.

The wall Mike pushed him against was cool compared to his fevered skin. He had just enough time to come up with a crack about how often that happened but not enough for the delivery before Mike said, "To make you come right there and watch you lick it off my fingers like syrup. I didn't think we'd get out of there without fucking in the bathroom."

That sucked all the air out of Greg's lungs. His heart threw itself at his ribs, frantic and unsteady. "Are you serious?"

In answer, Mike pressed flush against him, the hard line of his body and harder line of his cock saying everything Greg needed to hear. Greg let out a reckless moan, back of his head hitting the wall as he grasped at Mike's sides, ground into that teasing heat.

"You're fucking with me," he said, ignoring the niggling voice in the back of his head insisting that he should have let Mike do it. "No way you would've."

"Guess you'll never know," Mike said, biting at the base of his throat before wedging a hand between them, found a sensitive nipple and twisted. Greg arched with a gasp and Mike held him pinned, rubbed to soothe the sting. "There's no reason you can't fuck me bareback, is there?"

"Shit." Greg hissed and smacked a hand flat to the wall as Mike pinched again. His chest was aching, burning hot under Mike's fingers, and it still felt so good. "No," he said, not able to think of all very good reasons why they shouldn't with his common sense still smoking at the bottom of an elevator shaft. "No problem there."

Mike growled something that sounded like, "Good," against his mouth and took advantage of another sharp gasp to slide inside, tongue touching briefly to his, coaxing him to follow until he licked at Mike's in the hot space between their mouths, slick and dirty.

Sometimes he couldn't read a single thing in Mike's dark, flat eyes, but when Mike pulled away this time, he saw that same predatory ease as when there had been a gun's muzzle staring him straight in the face. Stick him in a little red cape and call him Riding Hood, he so did not care.

"Bedroom?" he asked, not sure if he sounded young and hopeful or just stupidly turned on. It was tough to be suave when your balls felt like solid iron weights.

"Go," Mike said, releasing him, and it took all of his considerable willpower to saunter down the hall as opposed to taking off like a bat out of hell and dive like a champion onto the mattress.

He flicked on the overhead light. Ambiance was all well and good but he wasn't in the mood to squint at Mike in the lamplight. They could do that later, after he'd finally gotten a damn good look at what Mike was hiding beneath those crisp suits.

Glasses clinked in the kitchen. He grinned. He liked that, Mike making himself at home. Casual atmosphere, casual sex, everything flowing nice and easy. He chanced a glance at himself in the mirror by the door, relieved to see that as much as he felt like a kid in a candy shop, he didn't look like a sugar-rush maniac. Mentally clicking his heels together, he dug lube out of the nightstand.

His hand brushed by the platoon of condoms and he paused. It was kinda not _really_ too late. Maybe they could talk about it. Not about exclusivity or anything--Greg didn't have time to do much else except eat, work and occasionally sleep, anyway. Mike didn't seem the exclusive type.

Picking up a box and frowning at it, Greg had to wonder, though. His score for reading Mike's type was stuck firmly in the negatives.

Light and teasing, Mike said, "Still dressed?" He held a glass of water in one hand and offered the opened beer dangling from the tips of the other.

Greg dropped the box he'd been staring at. He'd trot out the nifty nubby ones next time.

"Supplies," he said, waggling the tube and giving it a negligent toss onto the bed. He helped himself to a generous swig of beer, thick taste of hops exploding on his tongue and sliding cool down his throat. "You know, you don't have to get me drunk. I'll put out either way."

"Will you now?" Transferring the glass to his other hand, Mike ran chill fingertips across Greg's chest. They felt like little pieces of ice against his nipple, blessedly cool. "Go lie down."

"And get comfy?" Downing another mouthful, Greg set the beer down and rolled onto the bed, arms tucked under his head, legs crossed at the ankles and cheeky grin firmly in place. "Very comfy." He wiggled for emphasis.

Mike sat on the edge of the mattress and leaned over him, hand braced on the rumple of haphazardly straightened bedding. Setting the glass aside, Mike rubbed cool condensation over both his nipples, the pure pleasure at the touch to one clashing weirdly with the twinge from the other.

"Got a new fetish?" Greg asked, freeing one of his hands to glide up Mike's thigh.

"Showing you an old one," Mike countered, and leaned down to tongue at peaked flesh, teasing it tighter. He rolled it between his teeth, pressed in to the edge of pain and used the flat of his tongue to ease it. His other hand drifted lower, sweeping down Greg's side in a ticklish caress, and Greg shied away from it, close to laughing, then lost breath in a puff when Mike's hand curled over his cock.

In the same instant, Mike bit down. His tongue lashed hard over sensitive skin and Greg's fingers dug into the strong muscle of his thigh.

"Oh shit," Greg said, frantically trying to figure out when he became such a slut for having his tits played with. Liking it was one thing but this wasn't liking it, this was fucking dying for it. He caught a glimmer of what could've been a thought but Mike brought a second hand into play, fingers twisting his nipple between quick, hard sucks on it, and every single pull shot straight down to settle in the heavy weight of his balls.

Leaving one nipple red and throbbing, Mike switched back to the other, and Greg fisted a hand in the sheets, knees drawn up and spread wide. Mike nuzzled at it, the scratch of his face melting to the wet softness of his mouth then back again until up was down and down was up, one feeling like the other and both treading the fine line of real pain.

"You gotta stop for a second," Greg groaned, pushing at Mike's shoulder.

Mike gave him one last lick and backed off, the hand cupping his dick squeezing tight. His hips jerked. "Lasted longer than I thought you would," Mike said. He ghosted a hand lightly over Greg's chest, barely touching, and it was still too much.

Looking down, Greg saw the reddened mottle of his chest, a few darker patches that might turn to bruises before the night was out. "Holy shit."

"It looks good on you." Following his gaze, Mike touched one gently. The light pressure ricocheted down his spine, shocking a quiet noise out of him. "Sounds good, too."

"Yeah?" Greg asked, panting softly from too much stimulation on one end and not nearly enough on the other.

Taking it for an invitation, Mike pressed a nail lightly against the side of his nipple, probably not enough to even notice any other time but with his skin tortured and sensitive, he felt it all the way down to the pit of his stomach. He didn't hold back the sound that prompted, high and desperate and maybe a little embarrassing except for the way it made Mike's eyes flare.

Mike stood up and shrugged out of his shirt. That heavy leather belt was on the floor before Greg caught on, grey matter chugging along like steamship, and he bolted upright, knocked Mike's hands out of the way.

Mike raised an eyebrow.

"My turn," Greg announced, in case it wasn't crystal clear. His knees forced the mattress to dip and he splayed his legs wider. "If you had any idea how long I've been waiting to get you naked-"

"How long?"

Tugging down the zip, Greg said, "Long enough that I'm not gonna be patient about it."

"So I see," Mike said, bracing a hand on his bare shoulder for balance as he finally got his hands inside Mike's clothes and started pushing them down.

Maybe he should've taken his time and enjoyed it, but this thing with Mike was unpredictable enough that it didn't seem worth the risk. He pulled the waistband of Mike's underwear out to let Mike's heavy cock slip free, his mouth going wet as he realised he hadn't gotten a proper taste of it yet. He'd been sucked and fucked and somehow, they'd missed doing this.

No time like the present. He pressed his face to the tight dark curls at the base of Mike's dick and breathed in. He went dizzy from the thick smell, and when Mike's fingers threaded though his hair, tugged, it didn't help matters much.

"Never sucked a guy without a condom before, either," Greg said, catching Mike's cock to hold it steady for a wide lick. It settled hot against his lips. Any second now he was going to start drooling.

"Later," Mike said, voice strained, his grip in Greg's hair tightening. And that just made Greg moan, sucking eagerly at the head, searching for the heady taste of him at the slit. "Fuck me first."

"Fuck." Greg rested his forehead against Mike's flat belly. "Okay." He scrubbed his mouth dry on the back of his arm and stood up to shuck his jeans. He kept stealing glimpses at Mike, not all that surprised to see there wasn't a tan line in sight, and by the time he managed to wrestle them off, Mike was naked on the bed, both pillows tucked under his head.

When Greg set a knee to the bed, Mike's legs drew up, and Greg grabbed on to one to steady himself. He'd come up with his share of dirty daydreams over the last couple of weeks, and this was so, so much better. This was actually _happening_.

"Don't stretch me out too much," Mike said, pushing the tube his way with a foot. "Just make it wet."

"Sure." Hiding his shaking hands, Greg squirted enough gel onto his fingers to do the two of them, and if Mike did the eyebrow thing again, he'd claim he was following instructions to the letter. "That how you like it?"

"That's how I like it this time," Mike said, and there was no reason that meant _their_ this time, but hope sprung eternal. The hard on Greg carried around for Mike had a half-life of about that, so he figured he could hedge his bets.

Shuffling between Mike's spread legs, Greg actually had to concentrate for a second on not losing it. He'd fucked people in the coolie before, and it was usually fun and no big deal, but this was Mike. Michael-fucking-Keppler. He cupped Mike's sac in one hand, kneaded at soft delicate skin, and pushed slick fingers between the cheeks of Mike's ass.

"Here." Mike lifted up to prop his hips up with a pillow and hooked a hand under his knee, holding himself open. "Since you like to watch."

Greg nodded quickly. "S'good," he said, voice cracking like he'd looped back around for a second shot at puberty. He pressed his thumb against Mike's hole and felt his lips part on a ragged noise when the wrinkle of muscle easily opened up for him. "It's really good. You, uh." He wet his lips. "You do this a lot?"

"Not with someone else." Mike stretched an arm above his head, palm pressed flat to the wooden headboard. "Give me your fingers."

Wary of being _that_ guy, Greg gave him one, sucking in a breath as it slid smoothly into tight heat. He let air out on a groan and did it again, twisting to press against Mike's insides, dizzy with the thought of feeling Mike's body clutch at his naked cock.

A quick glance up revealed Mike watching, a tight curve to his mouth and one eyebrow lifted in question. "Don't want to rush," Greg said by way of explanation, but got with the program, pushed two fingers and more lube up into him.

"Feels good?"

The best Greg could manage was a nod. He spread his fingers a little, knowing damn well what Mike said and ignoring it, deliberately crooking his fingers to press against Mike's prostate, distract him.

And ended up distracting himself when Mike's hips jerked and muscle clenched tight around his fingers. He bent to lick at Mike's cock, the shiny wetness at the tip making his mouth water. "Holy fuck, Mike-"

Mike caught him under the chin before he got too close. "Come here."

"But-"

Fingers slipped down to curve flush to his throat. His heart gave a shuddering leap and he shuffled forward, his hand still between Mike's legs as Mike dragged him down for a kiss. It wasn't much of a kiss from his end of things, more like clumsy fumbling than anything, but Mike took it in stride, even seemed to like it.

Flashing back on the taste of gun metal in his mouth, he stayed passive, trembling with the effort. At his laziest, he still wasn't much for letting somebody else do all the work, and he could kiss Mike until his lips went numb and not get sick of it.

"Ready?" Mike asked, his hand staying put on Greg's neck as he rubbed knuckles over an insanely tender nipple. "All the way in, first try."

Greg's throat clicked as he swallowed. "'Kay," he mumbled, and went to draw back.

Mike's hold tightened, not close to cutting off his air but sending sparks shooting from nipple to cock with a slight pinch. "Like this."

Bracing himself with a hand on the back of Mike's thigh, Greg nodded shakily. There was more than enough Gun Oil left on his palm to do the job, and he slicked himself up fast, not sure how the hell he'd get even halfway through this without blowing it.

The feel of Mike's hole flexing against the head of his dick almost did him in. He gulped air, only his fingers to guide him, and ended up humping up against Mike's balls when Mike twisted at his chest, sent shockwaves rippling into his gut.

"Try again," Mike said, spit-slick fingers easing off to rub circles around abused flesh.

"Can't do it if you keep doing that," Greg gasped, grinding against the roughness of Mike's pubic hair. "Seriously-" Mike rubbed at both his nipples, and first it hurt, then it didn't, and it was so _good_. "Oh, shit."

"All the way," Mike told him again, palm pressed to his galloping heartbeat.

Easier said than done. Every time he lined up, Mike did something else to him, a pinch or twist or flick of a nail, and he shuddered, skidding off the mark. He grit his teeth and tried again, and when he felt tight heat opening up around the head of his cock, he went for it.

He slammed in straight to the root, and Mike jolted, smacked a hand to the headboard. Legs clamped tight around his waist, holding him in place. He shuddered and twisted up a handful of blankets, unable to hold completely still with Mike's body clutching at him. Christ, it was all he could do not to rut like a dog.

"Not yet," Mike said, shifting lower. He rubbed a thumb over one of Greg's nipples. "Not yet."

"Sorry," Greg gasped, stilling the grind of his hips. "Didn't mean to-"

"You did." Thick fingers skimmed over Greg's chest, found both nipples and rolled them. Mike could've taken a needle to him and he wouldn't have known the difference. "Want to do it again, just like that? All the way out and slam back in?"

Greg bit his lip. "You want me to?"

Mike took hold of Greg's hand, moved it to the back of his thigh. As muddled as Greg was, that was an easy cue to catch, and he pushed Mike's knees up.

Sliding out of Mike was incredible. It was all gritty heat as Mike's insides clung to him with slick, greedy flesh. He shoved back in hard and heard Mike groan, did it again and got another one, louder than the first.

"God, yes," Greg slurred against Mike's calf, slinging Mike's legs over his arms so he could get closer. "You never make enough noise, fuck you as hard as you want if you make noise for me."

Mike said, "Is that so," and his voice was a little breathless, a little unsteady. Greg had never heard him like that before and he wanted more.

He was close to getting it, too, until Mike started playing with his tits again and the slow, hard rhythm he'd set faltered. He groaned out his complaints, not _really_ meaning any of them, and tried to pick it back up again. His chest was on fire, bruised and aching, and the slick drag of Mike on his dick made him writhe, fuck sloppily up into Mike like it was his first time getting his dick wet.

"Shit," Greg hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. "Shit, shit, gonna come, don't want to come yet," and Mike moaned, good and loud and shot all to hell. That was the end of him, right there. He came so hard he was afraid he'd black out, and he fought it, didn't want to miss a second of feeling his come smearing inside Mike, turning everything slick and wet.

"Stay in me," Mike said, "fuck, Greg, grind it in, come on."

He was already going soft but he tried, oh hell, did he try. Give him five minutes and he'd probably be ready to go again, but he couldn't think straight to tell Mike that, too busy watching calm, cool, collected Mike Keppler moaning and twisting under him, straining for release.

Struck by a bolt of inspiration from some perverted god on high, Greg squirmed a hand between them, fit the bunch of his fingers around his cock and pushed. Just like that Mike arched and came, spilling shiny wet all over his stomach without a hand on him. Greg's nuts seized, tried to punch another orgasm out of him while he was still recovering from the first.

Mike's legs slipped down while he was caught up wondering whether he'd actually come again or not. There was so much slick smeared between them he honestly couldn't tell, and forget figuring out what the hell his body was trying to communicate.

Strong arms wrapped around Greg's shoulders and he sank into the embrace, his cock finally slipping all the way out of Mike's body shocking a noise from him, and then the brush of Mike's chest against his prompting another.

"I'm gonna be black and blue by the time you're done with me," Greg said. He wasn't kidding, either. He already had bruises in the shape of Mike's fingers on his hips, and he'd found a couple on his thighs yesterday with no clue where they'd come from. "You seeing anyone about those territorial urges?"

Stretching out with a satisfied groan, Mike said, "You seem to be catering to them perfectly fine." He brushed the back of one finger over the nipple that had somehow borne the brunt of his attention. "Sore?"

"Understatement."

"Roll over." After he'd flopped onto his back, the warmth of Mike's hand settled just below the ache. "It'll be worse tomorrow," Mike said, sounding suspiciously like he was looking forward to it. "Wear something soft."

Greg dropped an arm over his eyes. "I didn't think of that. It's gonna drive me nuts, isn't it?"

Mike's fingers crept higher. "Probably."

Lifting his arm a fraction, Greg glared hard at Mike's hand. "Unless you're planning on producing a magic wand and Harry Pottering it better, stop right there."

Mike's hand swept down, unerringly finding the marks lingering on Greg's hip. "I'll get you a cool cloth in a moment. That'll help."

Perking slightly, Greg said, "Yeah? Get me another beer while you're up?"

Mike cupped the softness of Greg's cock, not one bit worried about the mess. A fresh tingle snaked out along Greg's frazzled nerves. "Just like that, huh? A beer and I'm forgiven."

Something in Mike's voice was off, but Greg couldn't put his finger on it. It wasn't really apologetic. "You know, I wouldn't have let you do it if I didn't want you to."

Mike's dark eyes said he didn't quite believe that, and truth be told, Greg thought maybe he was right. Sometimes it seemed like if Mike wanted it, he did too, and there was no way in hell that wasn't going to blow up in his face one of these days.

Until then, though, might as well enjoy the ride.


End file.
